Imperfect
by TheRealRogue
Summary: ROMY. One shot. "The knife was dropped back to the floor, as he put away the blanket to find Rogue’s wrists cut and bleeding, and a folded piece of white paper resting besides her".


Disclaimer: Don't own them!

Note: hey! How's everybody? Today we have a little one shot that just popped up inside my head last night. Don't think I forgot about my other story, "Maybe Tomorrow". I just want to make it right, and since nothing has come out yet, I decided to write this little piece to see if my inspiration was back. I hope you like it and if you did or don't, drop me a review anyway! Oh, and remember I'm learning English, just in case you suddenly read something that just doesn't make any sense :-S Hope not ;-) It's kinda fluffy at the end, I warn you, but hey, we all need some fluff from time to time.

He would probably go out that night, just like yesterday and the day before, with one single idea fixated on his mind: to forget. Sure that's not an easy task when the thing you want to forget seems to be tattooed on every inch of your soul, but he kept trying. Trying not to compulsively think of her, at least for a while, for a few hours, as long as the sky remained dark and his night instincts were in control of him.

He needed it: to get out the mansion, and not to think of the mere existence of mutants. To drink… he had almost forgotten how good it felt to send away every sorrow with each sip. To check among the contacts on his cell phone, and randomly choose one of his _booty calls_. He was back to his old habits, but the difference was that now, when the day was breaking and he opened his eyes to find himself in the messy bed of some girl whose name he couldn't even recall, it was _Rogue_ the only name he would have wanted to pronounce for the rest of his life. And he couldn't help to look around, and to feel pity for the girl of the moment, and for himself. Anyone could say he wasn't betraying Rogue, since there was _technically _nothing between them; but technicities are crap, he knew that. He was bonded and attached to her like he never thought it was humanly possible; even though he couldn't even touch her.

Around ten minutes had passed, and he hadn't moved from his spot: one of his ears to her bedroom's door, hoping no bugging teenagers to suddenly appear down the hallway. Nobody had caught him doing this during the almost two months (_had it been that long already?) _since _it_ happened. But he needed this too: to make sure she was all right, before going out. A slight cough, the noise of a chair being dragged, the TV, the closet being open… any little clue that could prove she was ok, was enough for him to feel relieved.

But there was nothing but silence coming from the other side of the door this time. Silence, and rain unendingly falling outside.

Maybe she was asleep already, or reading; but then, he remembered that was the exact same thing he thought _that_ time. Could it be possible… that she did it again? Only the idea of it, made his heart start beating a little faster. Could it be?

"Rogue?" he finally raised his voice.

_Two months before:_

_"Chere?" Remy knocked on the door, expecting to receive a "What the hell do yah want?", or maybe a "Let a girl have some sleep, Swamp Rat!" as an answer. Yes, maybe she was sleeping already. "But dat won't stop Remy from sayin' good night". _

_Pushing the door open, he came in. The lights were down, and he could immediately feel that scent he liked so much: he always thought about it as some kind of citric vanilla, as strange as this could sound. It was pretty much like her, then: a mixture of different, opposite things, all rolled into one little stubborn package. He loved to recognize this, as he inhaled that sweet, acid scent._

_Walking silently__ not to wake her up, he put the book she had lent to him on a desk; it was more like she forced him to read it, and use his eyes for something else besides winking and mesmerizing people. Then, he came closer to the bed she was laying on, a dark purple blanket covering her to her neck; her face's skin looked so white and flawless, illuminated only by a few moon rays traversing the window. He had no clue of how, but there was something in the back of his mind always telling him he would find his way with her; something that encouraged him and told him to stay by her side, no matter what; the same something that, without a reason, made him sigh and take a small step forward, to hit something metallic with his foot._

_Remy could have let it be, thinking it could be just any casual object. But he picked up a sharp knife from the floor. _

_It's hard to face the possibility of things we fear the most and we think could never happen to us, actually occurring in front of our eyes. _

_The knife was droppe__d back to the floor, as he put away the blanket to find Rogue's wrists cut and bleeding, and a folded piece of white paper resting besides her. _

"_Chere_?" he knocked again, but realized he had taken too much anguish by now. So he made the door knob explode and came in.

Rogue wasn't there. It didn't smell like citric vanilla anymore either.

She was neither in the library nor in the kitchen, and not even in the studio. Remy kept hurrying his way down the hallways and stairs, just praying for her to emerge from somewhere. It was a close one, _that_ time, and he didn't want something like that to happen again. He wouldn't ever forgive himself if she…

"_Dieu_" he huffed, once he reached the door to the terrace she liked to come by, long time ago. This was the last chance; if she wasn't there, he would have to tell the others.

Coming in, he saw the glass window that was almost the whole size of the wall; a sculpture of something unrecognizable on the floor; a TV hung on a lateral wall; the big, cosy couch they both had watched so many movies on, and Rogue sitting on it, with her back to him.

It was the same feeling he had _that_ time, when Hank said she would be fine.

She didn't move or raise her gaze from her book to stare at him; it was like he hadn't even appeared. Since _that_ day, she hadn't said one word to him, even though he had tried countless times to talk to her. He knew what she was doing, because she had tried to do it once before: to stay as away as possible from him, _for the sake of both of us_, as she had said; it didn't last a week that time, though. There are things that just aren't supposed to be apart.

Remy let himself fall on the couch, by Rogue's side, fearing she could just get up and leave, like in those old times they were at each other's throats every day. How long had it been since they met? He surprised himself to realize it had been over four years now; four years they had shared and gone through more things some people live in their whole lives with someone. There was a _before_ and an _after_ in his life, separated by her; and looking back at who he was before, he realized he needed Rogue not to keep becoming that man from _before_ again.

"Hey…" he said, almost in a whisper. She produced a lot of things on him, but tongue tying wasn't one of them; however, this time he really didn't know what to say.

In spite some white bangs were hiding her eyes from his view, he could notice she stopped reading.

"Hey…" she echoed, and kept reading. It was so good to hear her voice talking to him again, even a single word.

Big water drops were rolling down the glass, describing intricate figures; on the other side, only darkness and more darkness could be seen. Now, Remy didn't want to go out; he just wanted to stay by her side and contemplate her pale, skinny hands that were ungloved this night. It wasn't common to see them like that, so he wanted to caress her fingers with his eyes, same way she caressed the book's pages when turning one of them. He liked her palms, her knuckles, her wrists… they were still scarred and they would probably always be, but he didn't care. He just wanted her, with or without her powers. His brother kept telling him not to waste his time in this ridiculous obsession, but he just couldn't imagine himself not loving her.

Suddenly, Rogue sighed and closed the book; she seemed to be struggling with something, trying to decide or to dear to do something. Her green orbits glittered with tears, as she tried to pull them back; she didn't want to cry…

"Ah love yah, Remy" she exhaled, her lips quivering with each word.

Did he hear wrong?

"_Quoi?"_ he managed to question, his whole body paralyzed.

"That's… what the little letter said… just that" Rogue said, staring into empty space like she was talking to herself, still fighting to hold back the tears. "Just… wanted t' say it, since yah never read it, an'… well, just that". She smiled what he thought was the saddest smile in the world.

He could have expected her to say anything, but this; it could have been seen as a formal declaration of their cursed platonic relationship, but he decided just to take the words and their meaning, without any other further implication. Because things aren't always perfect; they just are what they are.

He could say a million things now: giving her reasons and hopes about controlling her power some day, or a speech about how willing he was to be with her even like this. But words just didn't come, except for these:

"_Je t'aime, chere_. Y' know dat".

She finally turned to meet his eyes; she had absolutely no make up on, and her hair was a little messy, but he thought she was just perfect like that, her chest moving heavily with her hard breathe.

"Ah'm sorry" she said, biting her lip.

"Y' sorry what?".

Rogue shrugged, and looked around before meeting his eyes again; he knew she was doing an enormous effort on expressing her feelings, since she usually wouldn't do such a thing.

"Ah'm sorry 'bout… makin' yah go through all this… absurd… drama, yah know? All this…".

Remy didn't want to hear more of that, so he did the only thing he wanted the most: grabbing her face between his hands and kissing her lips like they both were going to die the next second.


End file.
